24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
sipping quince and lavender along the way
The hummingbird flutters close
listening for messages
what will you tell them?
will it be a sweet song?
perhaps one of laughter and open heart?
a reminder that all is well?
do they have a message for you?
listen with every sense
perhaps there is a conversation to share…
There is no evil in the world
Beyond that within man
The spirit creation and destruction
Often named to give form to the formless
To protect the fragile ego, perhaps?
I have always believed that the nature of man
Violent
Beautiful
Incomplete
We are a lost and lonely species
Always searching, but never really knowing for what
Perhaps this means every discovery
Has been nothing more than a footnote
Of a journey
Of which there is no end
Welcome, dear guest
Tired from the long way
Welcome to this Mago Orchard
Where you can stay
And look at the wondrous sight
Of jewels hanging from trees tall
Emeralds and Sapphires with sheen of gold
Upon earth, they do fall
So stay you must to catch them
Or you will be full of regret
There is no cost, of course
None you will ever know, I bet
So come along now
Oh you must
Hoard all these treasures
Before they return back to dust.
Wecome dear guest
You are the first one today
As were the others before and after
To come here, if they may.
The afternoon is easy to love
walking just so between displays of
the middling and spectacular
Desire is natural as the light
down the hall or So. Cali’s June gloom
daring us to wander deep in
urgency and twitches to
interrupt lunch or shopping or
other busy difficulties like flossing
Consider higher aspirations, the
clock counsels like the trill-a-ree of
a red winged blackbird or the
patch of clover along the fence
Clamor and glamour all at once
it’s the afternoon, easy to love
You and I
We suffer for art
But my heart
It aches
For your sake
It withers, engulfed in agony
Blistered, burned, bound
To the words you surround
Of lies and battered
Tattered copies of unread pages
Ages,
Ago I would have bled less
Said less
But you have shattered to smithereens
My love, my heart and each peice now sharp
Has a voice that stings
And rings in the music you recall
Of all the songs
You sang for art, my heart
Remembers only one
That you never sang
Redefining normal
I am not really normal, I am different!
If everybody else wears black, I wear colours.
Because I am painting with words,
because I am a creative dreamer,
because I embroider thoughts,
thoughts that see life on rainbows!
Normal
‘Normal is’, we laugh, shake our heads,
A vague pop culture reference we both enjoy.
There’s no such thing, we agree,
As you tell me again, how you
Have never been normal and I nod,
Knowing I wouldn’t have you any other way.
As we create our own reality,
Definition of normality,
Knowing we exist on the same page
And can write our own book
One moment at a time,
Building a life together.
What if
What if
What if I was Normal?
Well
We know
We know
We know I’m not Normal.
No one normal asks
What if they were Normal?
Because
They are
They are
They are boring.
Normal people let the world shape them
But
What if
What if
What if they weren’t Normal?
We could all shape the world.
She bounces around like a Tigger,
full of energy
and fun doggy vigor.
Her eyes shine with smart laughter
and sweet loving trust
as she brings her favorite toys out to play.
She will do most anything for a treat
or bite of food,
and there are many tricks
in her repertoire;
all she needs is the word,
command her attention,
and she’ll always be your best friend.
Her long fur can be a nuisance
(we can almost make another dog
from what she sheds),
but it’s part of what makes her
the beautiful Aussie that she is;
she’s black and white,
with brown mixed in –
the perfect blending of
a triple threat of colors.
She’s a little wary of people,
but a fierce protector
who barks when she’s bothered,
and knows when she needs to guard.
We couldn’t have chosen
a better furry and loyal companion
to watch over our precious daughter.
It was my own hubris.
I preferred to be alone,
introverted, awkward,
But it’s a pitfall.
A year, two years?
Its hard to keep count
when every day feels the same.
When I reminisce, will I remember my prior self?
The self that was empty and broken, so focused on the past
Maybe after all this, it’s for the best to forget
and look forward to the me that still is